


The One Who Walks In

by unadrift



Series: SGA Season Five Tags [19]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-05
Updated: 2009-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadrift/pseuds/unadrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John isn't dead. Much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Who Walks In

**Author's Note:**

> Tag for _Vegas_, beta'd by tacittype.

The possibility that he might ever wake up again was not something John had considered while bleeding out into the desert ground, his consciousness seeping away with what had seemed to be entirely too much blood.

The pain John felt upon waking was no surprise, though.

He tried to focus around it, to shove it aside and concentrate. He heard the low and regular distinctive beeping of a heart monitor, he smelt disinfectant and felt the familiar scratchy sensation of military issue sheets against his skin. Military hospital, he concluded fuzzily, and thought, _God, no. Not again._

He must have slipped back into sleep then, because the next thing John knew, there was someone in the room, talking to him.

"There you go, John," a female voice said. "Very nutritious and healthy, so eat up."

John figured that a particularly talkative nurse was switching his IV bag. He made an effort to verify the assumption by blinking his eyes open. He was right.

The nurse noticed immediately. "John," she said, sounding pleasantly surprised, like he had just dropped by in time for the birthday party bearing a gift. "It's good to see you awake. I'll go get the doctor."

The uniformed doctor – who was just as young but not as hatefully disapproving as the ones John remembered from Bethesda – studied John's medical files and checked the dressing of the scar. John was reassured that with some physical therapy he was going to be fine, and that after another week in hospital he could possibly be released home, provided someone was there to take care of him. "A spouse or a relative, maybe?" the doctor inquired politely.

John nodded and tried to look sincere. The fifteen minutes it had taken the doctor to appear had been more than enough for John to decide that he wanted out of there, fast. Because gossip spread quickly, especially on military bases. As soon as someone got a peek at John's service record, the entire hospital would know who exactly he was. John really wanted to be gone by the time that happened.

Hell, he would have been gone already if only he could manage to get out of bed and into his clothes on his own. But judging by the throbbing pain in his shoulder, not to mention the fact that John still felt a little like his brain was floating _outside_ his head and away from him, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

The next couple of days reminded John uncomfortably of the last time he had woken up on a military hospital cot, battered and bruised, with the loss of innocent lives weighing hard on his conscience, and the memory of _her_ almost drowning out the world around him.

It wasn't an experience John had ever wanted to repeat. He didn't have much of a choice, though. It was-- bearable, if anything. John managed not to go crazy most of the time, and when he was on the brink of doing so, he focused his thoughts on aliens that were dead-set on wiping out earth, and suddenly everything else didn't seem worth worrying about.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning on day five John woke up in the semi-darkness to a sharp voice accusing him, "You quit your job."

"Visiting hours are long over, McKay," John said groggily.

"Or they haven't begun yet. Depends on your perspective," McKay answered, making it clear that he couldn't care less. The battered chair at John's bedside creaked. McKay must have sat down, trying to get comfortable.

"How very Zen of you," John muttered and pointedly kept his face turned away from McKay.

In the following silence John could hear McKay breathe, and the ventilation system hum, and his IV go _drip drip drip_ – although the last one may have been due to his imagination.

Finally, McKay cracked. "You're an idiot," he blurted out. "I specifically told you not to engage the Wraith. I _told_ you not to--"

"You expected me to do it," John stated matter-of-factly. "That's why you filled me in about the flying city in a galaxy far, far away, and the life-sucking aliens, and my alternate reality twin. You _expected_ me to do something about it. Don't go complaining now."

"I hoped that you'd be able to help us. There's a difference. I didn't expect you to go and get yourself killed. I expected you to act _sensible_, not suicidal."

John turned his head, fixing McKay with a glare. "Is that what _he_ would have done?"

McKay's eyes were clearly visible, illuminated by a street lamp outside the window. He was studying John. "Actually, from what his team and my counterpart told me, the stunt you pulled would have been right up their Sheppard's alley. He was as much the self-sacrificing type as you are."

John was about to argue his supposed suicidal and self-sacrificing tendencies – purely on principle, if he was honest with himself – but his attention was diverted. "Wait, you met yourself in another universe?" If this conversation, if this _week_, got any weirder, he was going to-- Actually, John had no idea what he was going to do. It seemed like 'weird' was his new middle name. "Isn't reality supposed to collapse into itself or something when you meet your alternate version?"

"Who told you about entropic cascade failure?" McKay asked sharply, leaning forward in his chair. "No one outside the SGC and Area 51 is supposed to know about it."

John blinked. "Entropic what?"

"Uh. Never mind." McKay cocked his head, which gave him a strange look of childlike curiosity that didn't really fit the image that Rodney McKay had painted of himself in John's head so far. "So, you're a scifi kind of guy, huh?"

John had been, before. These days, there wasn't much of anything that could hold his interest. Catching bad guys was the one thing he had been able to put his mind to. Still, he had never much cared for being a cop. "Not really," he answered.

"Hm," McKay said non-commitally, leaning back in his chair.

"Why are you here?" John asked, because McKay hadn't elaborated so far, and John was kind of beat, even though he would never admit it, and he was just a little curious as to what McKay had to say. John would hate to fall asleep in the middle of the explanation.

"You quit your job," McKay said, sounding just as accusing as he had the first time.

"Yeah. So?" John tried to shrug. He hissed as the pain hit him, like a hot fire poker being twirled in his shoulder.

"Sheppard? Are you-- Lie still. I'll get the nurse." McKay's formerly business-like voice had an unexpected edge to it – concern with a side order of nervousness.

It was strangely comforting to have someone worry about him. No one had worried about John in-- pretty much forever. Not even John himself. Not for a long time.

"Wait. I'm fine." John's voice stopped McKay just inside door. "Just moved the wrong way."

"Are you sure?"

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, McKay. Come back here and tell me why you care."

"What?" McKay asked, frowning, almost like he really didn't get what John was asking. It was a little insulting.

"You heard me," John said, annoyed. "You got what you wanted. The bad guy is dead, you can return to-- wherever you came from with the warm, fuzzy feeling of a job well done. What do you care about my state of employment? What more do you want from me?"

McKay didn't sit down again. He walked over to the bed with his hands in his pant pockets instead, looking down at John with the infuriating air of superiority that seemed to be his default setting. "They were friends, you know."

"Who?"

McKay shot him a glare that suggested annoyance with John's slow-working mind. Well, _he_ should try recovering from a gunshot wound. It was no picnic.

"_They_," McKay emphasized, gesturing between them and at the universe at large. "The alternate reality us. They seemed really close."

"So?" John said, even though it wasn't hard to guess where McKay was going with this. God, McKay wanted to be _friends_. Right. Like that was going to happen.

"Ever since I met y-- that other Sheppard I've been thinking of contacting you to--" McKay gestured, as if John was supposed to understand without words.

"To be best buddies? True friends? Lovers?" John finished acidly. He could only guess whether McKay was blushing at that last suggestion or not. The light in the room wasn't good enough to tell.

McKay didn't sound flustered, though, when he answered. "I was curious, so sue me. I liked their Sheppard. And Sheppard seemed to like m-- the other Rodney. I can't say the kind of connection they shared is something I experienced before. I can't say I ever wanted anything like it before. Ask my ex-wife, she'd whole-heartedly agree." He paused, then reconsidered. "That is, if she could be persuaded to ever agree with me on anything out loud again."

John squinted at him. "Maybe you should go and tell this to your psychiatrist. Or to someone who cares."

"Please," McKay said dismissively. "That's what I'm doing right now. You've already taken a shine to me."

John snorted. "I have not."

"You so have." McKay said, shifting his weight from his heels to his toes and back again. He looked for all the world like a kid ready to open his first present on Christmas morning. With his expensive suit and the very boring gray tie, the image was almost ridiculous. McKay's co-workers had probably never ever seen him like this.

John knew he should just tell McKay to get lost, should ignore him until he went away, or John would have missed the one chance to get rid of him anytime soon. Because McKay was like a dog with a bone. Any further discussion would just fuel his delusion of the existence of an oncoming-- _thing_ between the two of them. Whatever the nature of the _thing_, it was something John definitely wasn't interested in. Least of all with McKay. He just wanted out of there. He just wanted to be left alone.

Except that McKay really was too much of an asshole to let him get away that easily. "You're an obnoxious, petty know-it-all," John said as snidely as he could manage. "You manipulate people into doing your bidding, especially when it comes to unpleasant tasks. If manipulation doesn't work, you bully. You don't take anyone else seriously, and you fancy yourself infallible. And no, your genius isn't really gaining you any karma points for compensation." John might have failed the detective exam twice, but no one had ever accused him of being unobservant. "So," he concluded, "what's to like?"

"See," McKay said gleefully, pointing a finger at John, "You know me inside out already."

John did a double take. "Did you even listen to what I just said?"

"Yes, yes," McKay said, waving the question away. "Obnoxious know-it-all, blah blah blah. Heard it all before."

Despite himself, John felt a grin spread across his face. He shook his head. McKay couldn't be for real. Then again, it seemed like he was.

"The thing is," McKay went on, "you're not really doing any better in the social circle department. You quit your job. As far as we've been able to determine, there is no one in your life. No family, no friends. Plus, everything that was yours burned in that fire."

John's grin faded. "You say that like it's a good thing," he said flatly.

"Yes! I mean, no!" Rodney took two hasty steps closer, hands gesturing jerkily. "I didn't mean-- Well, actually, I did. It's just-- Fortunately, you're dead."

"I'm dead," John repeated, wondering if he had missed something. He wouldn't put it past his subconscious to let McKay get out his black coat and scythe now and guide John's soul away into whatever afterlife awaited him. John was screwed up like that, after all.

But McKay just nodded seriously. "And hardly anyone is going to take notice, which is good."

John pondered the possible existence of a limit to McKay's insensitivity, then decided he really didn't want to know. "Thanks a lot," he deadpanned.

"No, I--" McKay started, sounding as frantically apologetic as before. Then he stopped and took a quick, deep breath. "Oh, get over it. That's not how I meant it, and you know that."

John closed his eyes for a moment. He was beginning to feel bone-deep exhaustion hit him. "Maybe I really would know what you're talking about, if you'd just _explain it to me_."

"Right," McKay said. "Right. Good idea."

John mentally rolled his eyes. In reality they were far too tired to be trusted with the action.

McKay bent to retrieve a briefcase from the floor. "You may have died," he intoned, setting it down on the bed next to John's knee, "but here I am, offering you rebirth." He opened the briefcase with an exaggerated gesture.

John almost laughed out loud. "Cut the drama, McKay. You're no James Bond. You're not even Q."

McKay grumbled something that sounded like, "Damn right I could be Q," but John couldn't be sure.

It was only then that the meaning of McKay's words sank in. And sank in further. John felt his eyes widen as he stared disbelievingly at McKay's hands rummaging around in the briefcase.

"Here." McKay dropped a small stack of papers, a key ring, and a cell phone on the bedside table. He pointed at the keys. "Apartment and car, paid for six months in advance. Your new address is in the papers. You can make a new start. If you want to. I mean, I could possibly resurrect John Sheppard if that's what you'd prefer--"

John stared at the papers, the keys, the phone, the endless possibilities. As much as he hated the thought of accepting anything from McKay – John really didn't need any help, thanks very much, he was doing just fine – this was the chance he hadn't even known he'd been hoping for.

Did he want to leave the past behind? Did he want to leave himself behind?

God, yes.

When John looked up, McKay was watching him expectantly.

"Why?" John asked. He was at a loss when it came to figuring out McKay's motives. McKay wasn't the type to be nice for the sake of being nice.

McKay shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not entirely altruistic here," he admitted, thereby restoring John's faith in his ability to read people. "I was hoping that the set-up, your new life, might be temporary. That you might be persuaded to come and work with us in the Pegasus galaxy."

O-kay. John hadn't been expecting that.

Another _galaxy_. John had just gotten a job offer from another galaxy. Granted, the person who was trying to convince him to join up was a little on the annoying side. And he was probably trying to get in John's pants.

"In Atlantis. With me," McKay clarified. "Er, and Zelenka," he hastened to add.

Yeah, definitely trying to get in John's pants.

McKay cleared his throat. "Your Ancient gene, I mean, the other Sheppard's gene, was stronger in him than in anyone else they had tested. Yours will likely be as strong. Don't get me wrong, we've managed to keep the city afloat without you. It's not like we need you or anything--" McKay's voice trailed off.

After a long moment of silence, during which John's mind was surprisingly blank, he asked, "What would I-- Who would I be?"

"That's your choice, mostly. We can work something out. It would probably be a good idea to go with a military background."

John bit back the immediate 'No chance in hell' that was on the tip of his tongue. "I've got a degree in mathematics," he said, although he hadn't thought about it, much less mentioned it, in at least a decade.

"You'd want to work in a lab?" McKay asked, surprised. Of course he already knew about the degree. John couldn't summon up the suitable annoyance at the fact that McKay seemed to have pried into his life pretty damn deeply.

"No," John answered. "Not really."

"Well, we can work that out later," McKay said. "The basics are covered already, anyway." He gestured at the papers on the bedside table. There was a driver's license on top of the pile. "Your first name is common enough. I kept it."

Slowly, still a bit wary about the proceedings, John picked up the driver's license, read the name, blinked, and read it again. "You're kidding, right? _John Connor_?"

McKay had the decency to look sheepish. "Connor is a perfectly common name," he said defensively. "I was thinking about Hammond as last name, but that is bound to raise questions in Atlantis." At John's lifted eyebrow, he added, "General George Hammond, head of Stargate Command for seven years, died of a heart attack recently."

"Oh," John said. "A good man, I take it."

"As good as military types can get," McKay said shortly. Which was the highest compliment he was capable of dishing out, John guessed. McKay busied himself with closing the briefcase and setting it back on the ground.

John studied the awful picture on the driver's license, running his fingers along the edges of the document. "I can't believe you named me after the most annoying kid in the history of science fiction movies."

"I was thinking more about the series, actually. Not that he isn't annoying there, too, sometimes."

John looked up. "Series?"

McKay froze, in the middle of the process of sitting back down in the chair. "You weren't kidding when you said that you're not into science fiction."

"Anymore," John added, then realized the mistake he had made. Judging by McKay's calculating expression, there were a lot of TV-watching hours waiting for him in his near future, with McKay looming over his shoulder and making snide comments about bad acting, bad writing, or bad special effects.

"You're going to like the Sarah Connor Chronicles," McKay said. "I'm planning on bringing all episodes to Atlantis. It'll make for good bargaining, too."

There was an uncomfortable silence after the new mention of Atlantis, which John spent staring at the ceiling.

"So, um," McKay said finally. John could hear the question as if McKay had actually asked it out loud. 'Are you coming with us, or not?' This was unsettling him, just a little.

"Let me think about it," John said.

"Okay," McKay agreed far too quickly, his voice oozing confidence. In McKay's mind, John seemed to have made his decision already.

Abruptly, as if someone had attached a high voltage wire to his chair and flipped the switch, McKay jumped up. "I'll go and let you sleep, then. You need rest." There was an unspoken 'for the trip to Atlantis' at the end of the sentence.

"Yeah," John drawled. "It's not like I was already doing that before some inconsiderate person walked in and woke me up in the middle of the night."

The sarcasm didn't affect McKay at all. "Hey, did I say?" he asked, slowly backing towards the door, briefcase clutched in his hand. "I'm really, um, glad that you didn't die."

"Funny," John said. "I'm kind of glad I did."

McKay seemed to take this as the 'Thank you' that it was intended to be. He smiled awkwardly. "I'll drop by again tomorrow." McKay raised a hand to give a short wave and slipped out the door.

"Hey, you realize this doesn't mean that we're buddies, right?" John called out after him.

"Whatever," McKay's voice carried in from the corridor.

John silently swore to himself, then he shouted, "Bring a chessboard!"

He didn't see McKay's triumphant grin, but it wasn't hard to imagine at all.

 

\- end -

* * *

  


  
_A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out._  
\- Walter Winchell -


End file.
